


A Peaceful House

by Blue_Cat



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: AKA nothing really happens, Blackmail, Established Relationship, Hostage Situation, Kidnapping, M/M, Slice of Life, outsider pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-23
Updated: 2017-01-23
Packaged: 2018-09-19 13:07:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9441971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blue_Cat/pseuds/Blue_Cat
Summary: Happy spouse; peaceful house





	

**Author's Note:**

> [character a is a really notorious gang leader/well known feared ruler of some kind etc and no one dares cross them or talk back to them etc because they won’t make it out alive but character b can literally get away with saying whatever they want and everyone knows it’s because they have character a wrapped around their finger]

You’re not sure how long it’s been. Keeping track of time was never your strong suit in normal circumstances, much less when you’re under stress. And ‘under stress’ is putting your current situation lightly by any standard. Being blindfolded, gagged, taken from your office, and shoved into the dark and cramped and, frankly, reeking confines of a car trunk is far far beyond anything that might be classified as simply ‘under stress’.

And, consequently, does nothing to improve your horrible sense of time.

It could have easily been hours. Hours with nothing to do but panic. Panic and rack your brain to think of a reason, any reason, for why this could possibly be happening to you.

(It’s not that you’ve led a perfect life, for sure, but kidnapping? To what end? Who could conceivably benefit from kidnapping a middle-incoming-earning accountant? You don’t even serve any wealthy clientele!)

Needless to say, it was one of the most terrifying experiences of your life. And yet, when your captors finally do remove the blindfold after marching you to your destination, you can’t help but want to go back. The car may have smelt like a cesspool, but you’d take an actual cesspool, any day, over where you are now; that is, seated in an expensively furnished office across from the most feared and powerful man in either of the Twin Cities.

Leonard Snart.

He looks up just as the doors behind you close and you feel the thud of them resonating in your ribcage. Could just be your heart attempting to jump straight out of your chest in fear.

“You know who I am?” Snart starts off, it’s barely a question. As if anyone in a hundred miles of the cities doesn’t know exactly who Captain Cold is.

“Yes,” you say, as levelly as you can manage. When Cold’s brow starts to furrow you add in “S-sir.”

“Fantastic,” he drawls. “And I know who you are.”

“Please,” you begin to grovel, “Mr. Snart – “

“I prefer ‘Cold’,” he cuts in idly.

“Please, sir, I-I don’t –“

“You don’t know why you’re here,” he fills in. “I know that too. You see, I’ve been having this, well let’s call it a ‘money problem’. And I think you can help me. In fact, I’m pretty convinced that you will.”

“I’ll give you anything,” you offer immediately, frantically, “Everything! Whatever you want.”

“Good to know,” Cold smirks, amused, “But we both know what your bank account looks like.”

While you take a second to process that concerning bit of information, Cold slides a thick manila folder across his desk, “And it’s not your money I’m after. I have a list of your current clients here a –“

“Snart!”

The double doors are thrown open. Hard enough to crack against the walls and you try (and mostly fail) not to flinch too obviously. A hulking figure strides past, seemingly oblivious to your presence, and stomps right up to Cold.

“Mick’s back,” the young woman who’s been lounging at the desk outside singsongs as she delicately shuts the door again.

You would turn to plea (again) to be let out but you’re a little preoccupied watching the new guy, ‘Mick’, as he grabs a fistful of Cold’s sweater and uses it to haul the man bodily out of his armchair.

You’re even more terrified and confused than you were before, and honestly you didn’t think that was possible. One way or another, you’re pretty sure you’re about to see someone get murdered. You shoot a frantic look at Cold, to try and deduce what he’s going to do about this and exactly how you’ll be expected to dodge, only to see that he’s gone as tense and wide-eyed as you have.

“What the fuck?” Mick seethes and he shakes (shakes) Cold, like a rag doll.

“Mick! You’re-,” You watch Cold falter, blinking rapidly and mouth opening and closing on half-formed words before eventually settling weakly on, “early.”

“You promised I’d get to light that place up,” Mick says darkly.

“I know.”

“You said.”

“I know,” Cold repeats, placing his own hands over the ones Mick still has twisted firmly into his sweater. “Something came up.”

“You always do this,” Mick growls, releasing Cold with a slight shove that sends him stumbling back a step or two. He turns to pace away, like the distance wasn’t enough. You watch the proceedings, wondering if you could possibly sneak out while they’re clearly distracted or if your movement would only make you a conduit for their rage.

“I don’t always – ,” Cold cuts himself off at the quick glare Mick turns on him, raises his hands in a capitulating gesture, “Okay, okay, It’s been happening more than usual lately. But I couldn’t have predicted that the Beretti’s would be able to pay in time. I honestly thought their coffers were empty by now, I don’t know where they got the cash.”

“That’s what you said last time.”

“Well, the mole is proving to be a little harder to root out than I thought it was going to be. That’s why I’ve brought in our new friend here,” Cold says with a gesture to you, even though you’ve clearly been trying your best not to be noticed at all.

Mick bares his teeth at you and full-on growls.

“They don’t know it yet,” Cold continues, “But they’ve been moving money around for the Beretti’s shell corporations for the past year.”

“Wait, what?” You can’t help but cut in.

“And they’re going to show us the books and figure out where the money’s really coming from.”

“I-I,” You try to articulate just how much you’re not prepared to be a corporate spy.

“Or you can torch them with the rest,” Cold finishes, with a self-satisfied look when you’re stuttering cuts off abruptly and you bow your head. “Give me a couple more weeks, tops. Then you set the entire Beretti estate on fire, I swear to you, Mick.”

You risk a peek up at Cold to see him staring at Mick, waiting for judgment.

“You said I’d get to torch something today,” Mick persists, and if he weren’t a human brick wall you might call it ‘pouting’.

“I’ll make it up to you,” Snart assures him, voice all soft and low.

Mick’s face furrows, eyes narrowing and jaw tight as he stares Cold down, considering him. But he is, evidently, appeased as he visibly relaxes, albeit with a slight shove as he pushes past Cold to collapse in his armchair, “Yeah, you bet you will.”

“You have my word, Mick.”

There’s a moment of silence where you watch Cold’s expression go from relieved to incredulous and you see him take a step closer to Mick before his eyes flicker your way and you turn your gaze back to your lap.

“What,” he whispers, “you mean now?”

“You got something better to be doing, hm? Your new friend?” Mick presses, eyebrows raised, “They’re more important to you than I am?”

“Of course not.”

“Then?”

Cold presses his lips together tight while Mick rocks back in the chair, relaxed like he already knows what’s about to happen next.

Cold shoots you a look that you’re sure would be frightening as hell, if the tips of his ears weren’t turning suspiciously pink. “Door’s right there,” he says finally, and you’re already scrambling out of your seat. “And don’t think for a second that I won’t find you again,” he adds in, raising his voice so he can be heard over Mick’s delighted laughter.

You scurry out, as directed, not looking back even when Mick’s chuckles are suspiciously cut off mid-snicker. The double doors slam back heavily behind you.

“The ol’ball and chain,” the young woman who announced Mick’s arrival supplies. She’s still hanging around on the couch outside the office.

You can’t possibly even being to grasp the non-sequiter, and she tilts her head and smiles like she is very well aware of that.

“You know how that goes though, don’t you?” she asks. “’Happy wife; happy life’ and all that jazz. Nice ring by the way.”

Almost mechanically you run a finger over the well-worn band.

“Anyway, if you’d like to keep your happy life, I’m sure you won’t even think about breathing a word to anyone about what you heard today, isn’t that right?” She smirks and the gun she’s got casually trained on you ensures that there’s only one right answer to the question.

“I’ll do whatever you want.”

“Now that’s what we like to hear.”


End file.
